Heart of the Matter
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: SVU AU Perhaps you've seen John Munch's tat on H:LOTS? In this total fluff, John tries to persuade Sarah Zelman to get a tat on her tush. Will she sit still for body art on her backside, despite her religious objections? You may be surprised.


"The Heart of the Matter"

by Cardinal Robbins

Disclaimer: John's not mine, but I've come to terms with it. Sarah is mine, but she pretty much belongs to Munch. This isn't a song-fic, but it is veddy fluffy schtuff, everyone, so please don't take it seriously. It was spurred by the episode of Homicide: Life on the Street, in which we saw John's 'leaf' tattoo. Hope you have an enjoyable read!

"It doesn't hurt as much as you think, Sarah," John Munch explained patiently, "especially if you have a couple shots of something strong first. Once you get into the rhythm of the needle, it's almost calming." He arched his brows. "What do you say? Are you game?" It wasn't the first time they'd had the discussion. Hope springs eternal, he thought, wondering if he could convince her this time.

"'Calming'? Are you kidding?" she asked, incredulous. "Munch, I hate to say it, but this time you are completely full of crap!" She laughed, a nervous giggle as he made them breakfast. "I'll pass. Besides, John, it's against my religion. I'm a Jew, remember…we're not supposed to do tattoos," she said pithily, accepting the plate of scrambled eggs he held out. "The camps violated Jews when they were tattooed, so I'm not about to get one voluntarily."

"Oh, please," he retorted. "God's going to be mad at me for something I did years ago? He's going to give me the big cosmic smack-down, because of something as inconsequential as a little bit of body art?" The question was merely rhetorical, because he hadn't thought twice before getting his tats. "Hardly, Sarah," he asserted. "You've never complained about my tattoos before."

"Of course not, because it's your choice," she said evenly. She took a sip of tea and continued. "You made it, you live with it and I respect your choice. I'm certainly not complaining."

"But you wish it wasn't a cannabis leaf, don't you?" he asked pointedly. He figured she knew the circumstances, since it wouldn't take a genius to know he had been high when he got it. And not just high on grass, bitter truth be told.

Sarah shrugged and shook her head. "It doesn't bother me as much as you think, John. Have I ever said anything or even looked remotely surprised?" She knew it – he'd been high, most assuredly. Especially considering where his second one was located.

"Actually, no, you haven't. You were surprised at the location of my second tat, though," he said, remembering when she'd seen it the first time. He sat down and took a bite of eggs, adding salt. "C'mon…do it for me," he coaxed. "Please?"

"We're going to kick this around as much as the whole issue of what kosher and what's not, aren't we?" she asked, giving him a look. "We spent days on that one, and this is something I feel even more strongly about. You're not going to change my mind. I'd have to be completely meshugge to even consider it." She grinned, taking a long sip of coffee. She could practically hear him thinking of a better argument than, 'Do it for me.'

He looked at her over the top of his lenses and thought for a long moment. "There are times when I think we're from different planets," he countered. "Why are you so observant about some things, but you'll still violate Shabbas by working weekends and break commandments when you've got a perp in the box?" I've got her on the run now, he thought triumphantly. "Are you hiding behind your Conservatism, Shira?"

"Uh-huh… Here we go again," she said sarcastically, forking a bite of eggs into her mouth. She glared at him, resenting how he'd use her Judaism against her. "Always with my Hebrew name, whenever you want me to go against Jewish law," she quipped, as he reddened. "You know that's not going to change how I feel on this one, John."

"Come on…you know you want to!" Munch asserted, spreading strawberry preserves on his toast. "For me? Please? It won't hurt. I'll even hold your hand, if you want." She wasn't afraid of needles, he knew, but maybe the thought of pain was putting her off.

"'It won't hurt'…much," she retorted. "The answer is still 'no' and will remain that way. Besides, it would change my FBI file," she reasoned, picking up the Calendar section of the Times.

Toast poised halfway to his mouth, he looked at her oddly for a moment. "How do you figure?" He put the strawberry-laden whole wheat back on his plate.

"Anything considered a 'distinguishing mark' has to be noted – and photographed – in my jacket." She gazed at him over the top of the paper, with a 'so there' expression on her face. "I am not going to have that kind of photo in my file. No way. I'm not about to become a Playboy pin-up for the Bureau."

"'Anything'? Meaning everything," he said, taking a sip of Constant Comment tea. "That's the big hesitation? Someone seeing your tattoo?" He huffed. "Sarah, you have been hiding behind your religion – suddenly, it has less to do with this issue than you've led me to believe."

"Say whatever you want, John," she replied evenly, her anger close to surfacing. "You're wasting your breath. I'm not going to do it." She put her fork down and glared at him, before she punctuated it with a sigh. "Even though I think the idea is cute," she conceded.

"Hey! You're starting to weaken, you just admitted as much." He picked up the morning paper and snapped it open dramatically. "Just wait. I'll wear you down," he said confidently. "I've done it before and I'll do it again."

"My resolve is unwavering, John." She vowed not to crack so much as the hint of a smile. There was no way Munch would win this time…or ever, as far as she was concerned. "Now stop." She took a bite of scrambled eggs and toyed with ignoring him entirely. Maybe if he couldn't yank her chain, he'd cease and desist.

"I'll stop when you have the little pink heart, outlined in black, with my name in script beneath it," he insisted, having doodled the design on a napkin over yesterday's Chinese chicken salad.

"No one is going to see my backside, especially for the purposes of violating my religious beliefs." She sipped her tea, watching him carefully over the rim of the mug.

"God won't care, Sarah. Trust me," he assured her, arching his brows. "And I'll be right there to make sure no one violates anything, even your backside." He ached for her to have even the tiniest bit of body art, as long as his first name was part of it.

"Nice try. Answer's still no." She was sure her tone forbade additional comment. Burying her nose in the sports section, she felt confident the subject was finally closed. This time.

"A tiny pink heart…my name in script. It would be adorable."

"John!" she almost yelled, genuinely irked with his lobbying. "It would have to scab over and that's awful. I can't imagine how you survived having one done on your tuchis, of all places." She shook her head, her exasperation finally giving way to a grin. "You're lucky you didn't have to get it reworked, when you caught a bullet in the backside." Sarah inwardly cringed at the thought of him getting shot, but she was relieved he didn't have to get his tat redesigned because of it.

"You're afraid you wouldn't be able to sit down at work," John insisted. "That's part of it, isn't it? Don't try to fib your way out of this one." He laughed softly, sure he tripped her up because of her vanity and pride.

She took a leisurely bite of jam-laden toast and studiously allowed him to simmer for a long moment. "Frankly? Yes. The thought crossed my mind." Sarah wondered how far he'd push this before they openly started feuding. John's dogged persistence, one of his best qualities, could also be one of the most maddening.

"I'll bring a pillow. You can do desk duty for a day, sitting on a beautiful cushion like a princess." He'd arrange it with Cragen, maybe even without telling Cap why.

"A princess? Not 'The Queen of Quantico'?" she teased. "I would never recover from the ribbing I'd take, especially from Fin."

"Elliot has tats," Munch countered. "Why aren't you complaining about those?"

"I'm not complaining about anyone's – even yours. It's just not for me, that's all. Besides, he's a jarhead and they're supposed to have tats. It's practically the law for anyone in the armed services." She cringed at the memory of her late father, who'd had a Navy tattoo. A garish blue-black blotch, which he'd gotten during the Korean War. It had looked almost acceptable when first drawn, but distorted over time into something indecipherable.

"Okay, bad example… But I have tats and you should, too. Think of it as a right of passage. A lot of cops have tats." If he couldn't counter her religious objections or her thoughts of pain, he'd appeal to her sense of belonging.

"And a lot of cops don't. John, know when to back off, okay?"

"Okay, fine!" He'd eventually prevail. It just wouldn't happen as quickly as he hoped.

It was her turn to twist the thumb-screws on him. "Did every ex-Missus Munch have a tattoo? Maybe you coerced each one to get labeled?"

"Low blow, Sarah. That's not fair and you know it," he snapped, hiding behind the newspaper. He hated it when her questioning hit too close to home. She always seemed to know exactly when to zero in, striking him where he was most vulnerable.

"It's a valid question," she replied softly. "Is it true? Did the ex-wives have tats?" She genuinely wondered, especially since he was so touchy about it.

"No. None of them would," he said sullenly, sulking yet still pretending to read the morning edition of the Times. "Let's drop the subject before we get into it again."

On a chilly January night, as they undressed, John watched as Sarah gave him a wink and sly smile. He saw her slip under the covers, wearing something provocative in slinky champagne satin and lace. When he gave chase, she giggled.

"Something on your mind beside the obvious?" he asked teasingly.

"If you had a flashlight, you'd know," she replied, grinning. "Maybe it's something less obvious than you think." She rolled over on her side, tugging the teddy up another inch as he pushed the comforter to the floor. He saw an incredibly small, pink heart, outlined in black. His first name was beneath it, in precise black cursive. He traced it with his index finger and smiled.

"Sarah, you did it!" Munch exclaimed, staring at her backside in amazement. "It's exactly the one I wanted you to get… When?" He shook his head and almost stuttered. "How?" He gently ran his hand over the tattoo, almost afraid it would disappear before his very eyes.

"Enjoy it while you can," Sarah chided, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He was confused. She was already thinking of having it removed? She'd just had it done… It made no sense to him.

"It's a temporary tat, sweetheart," she admitted. "I knew you wanted to see me with one, so I found a compromise – an airbrushed temp-tat, which should last a couple weeks even through soap and water." Zelman watched as he ran his hand over it again. "You're not upset with me, are you?"

He laughed and gave her a playful swat on the backside. "Are you kidding? How could I possibly be mad? It's adorable," he decided. "You did that for me? Or did you want it, too?" He rescued the comforter from the bedroom floor and drew it over them both. "How did you think of a temporary version?"

"You're just filled with questions tonight, aren't you?" she asked, a wide smile on her face. "I'll admit, I did it for you, but certainly not under duress. Once I found out they could airbrush a temporary at Tattoo You, my mind was made up. It was the middle-ground we were looking for, you and I." She tugged the teddy back down as he loudly complained. "What?"

"I wasn't finished inspecting it…yet," he said, arching his brows. "You were worried about your backside being violated, so I'm checking for errant fingerprints. C'mon…"

"All in due time," she said, laughing. Sarah reached over and took off his glasses, as he took off hers in kind. "Now that you've seen my tattoo –"

"Yes?" he asked, his tone almost a dare.

"Time for me to see yours again," she replied. "Both of them."

"Since you've shown me yours," he began, stripping off the black cotton scrubs he slept in, "reciprocity is the least I can do."

"Really? Then what's the 'most' you can do?" Sarah teased.

"You're about to find out," John replied, his mind on some of the other temporary tattoos he'd like to see her wearing. "First, I need a closer look at that exquisite little heart, to be certain they got every…last…detail…exactly as I'd drawn it."

Author's Note: Temporary tattoos can be fun.


End file.
